


Praying does make a difference

by essenceofbeing



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s08e17 Goodbye Stranger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:21:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1394254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essenceofbeing/pseuds/essenceofbeing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off this post:</p>
<p>http://crossroadscastiel.tumblr.com/post/81250309975/rainywithachanceofstars-katiebug445</p>
            </blockquote>





	Praying does make a difference

“Do it,” Naomi commanded.

 

Castiel stared at a fake image of Dean, laying before him in the empty warehouse. They weren’t on Earth, but in some Hell that Naomi had made for him in Heaven. Castiel could feel the thrum of Grace surrounding the warehouse, beating with aggression and he knew he couldn’t escape. However, he still contemplated it. Dean’s eyes were full of pain, his legs broken so he couldn’t escape. He was watching Cas with those green eyes of his, the clarity in them muffled by the pain from his legs. Starting off easy, Naomi had explained.

 

“Cas,” Dean choked out, his face twisting when he tried to grab at Castiel’s arm. “Help me, please, it hurts,” he gasped. Castiel watched him, his chest beating with the thrum of Naomi’s poisonous words.

 

“Kill him,” she commanded, and he felt something in his head snap. He was screaming inside, trying to back away, to will his angel blade back into Grace, but he couldn’t stop moving forward.

 

_Hey Cas_ , he heard, but it wasn’t from the Dean in front of him, his body mangled and his eyes feverish with pain.  _I know you can hear me. I don’t know why you don’t get your ass down here, cuz you really should. We got shit going on, and we need your help_. He froze, Dean’s prayers keeping him locked.

 

“Cas,” the Dean in front of him whispered, his eyes bright and filled with tears of pain. “Come on, man, help me.”

 

“Kill him,” Naomi commanded, more force behind her words this time. Castiel choked on his denial as his vessel moved forward without his permission, sinking his angel blade deep into Dean’s chest. There was a moment, where Castiel’s eyes were locked on fake-Dean’s green ones, full of betrayal.

 

_Come on, Cas. I need you._

\-----

The bodies were stacking up.

 

The Deans were piling up in one corner of the warehouse, just visible past the concrete pillars holding up the ceiling. It was a dark mass of forest green and the faded blue of jeans, thrown together against the white wall. There were smears of blood and a pool of crimson seeping through the cracks on the floor.

 

“Again,” Naomi commanded, a new Dean in front of Castiel. He was standing up, a knife in his hand and confusion in his eyes.

 

“Cas?” Dean asked, as Castiel started moving forward robotically. Although he didn’t want to, he was keeping count inside his head for each time he felt his heart shatter. So far, he had killed Dean 311 times. Each time Naomi’s eyes got a little brighter, and Castiel felt himself slipping.

 

“Cas, whatcha doing?” Dean wasn’t backing away, wasn’t holding up his blade, and Castiel felt like crying. He wasn’t trying to defend himself, even though Castiel’s blade gleamed under the light of the warehouse.

 

_Hey Cas_ , Dean’s voice echoed. Castiel stopped, his body jerking to a stop.

 

“Keep moving,” Naomi’s voice cut through Dean’s prayer.

 

_So I don’t know where the hell you are, but I know that you can hear me._

 

Castiel twisted fake-Dean’s arm back, hearing the crack of bone and the clatter as the knife dropped to the ground. This close, he could see the widening of Dean’s eyes in pain and betrayal. “Cas!” he shouted, dropping to his knees as Castiel pressed down hard on his broken arm.

 

_Since you’re not showing up, I’m guessing you aren’t going to anytime soon._

 

Dean cried out as Castiel put his foot on his chest, pressing down slowly but surely. He could feel the satisfied hum of Naomi’s Grace behind him, muffling everything until he couldn’t even feel Dean’s fingers scrabbling weakly at his leg.

 

_Watch out for my brother, would you? I know that you’re busy, so I’m only asking this of you. Me, you don’t have to give a shit about. But keep Sam safe, would you?_

Castiel watched the light fade from 312, the bones in his chest cracking inwards. “Good,” Naomi praised.

 

“Thank you,” Castiel said in a monotone, watching one of Naomi’s minions come in and drag the body into the pile in the corner.

 

_Thank you_ , Dean echoed inside his head.

\-----

Castiel didn’t know how long it had been.

 

He counted the time by each time his angel blade coalesced from his Grace, slipping easily into his palm with practice. He counted by remembering each time Naomi dragged him into her office and dug into his mind, cutting parts of his Grace out and changing them until he didn’t remember anything but the warehouse full of the same body. He tried not to, but he kept a count of how many times Dean prayed to him.

 

Castiel knew that he wasn’t right, that something inside of him had been taken apart by Naomi’s sharp tools and cut into pieces so small that he wasn’t sure they even existed. He knew that the part of him that remembered the Winchesters was now diced up into a million pieces, scattered in the darkest recesses of his mind and poisoned by Naomi’s wheedling words. He felt empty inside, and it was nice. He no longer ached every time Dean cried out in front of him, didn’t feel like crumpling each time the beat of Dean’s heart stopped abruptly.

 

The only thing disrupting his pattern was the random intervals in which his Grace hummed with a prayer.

 

_Hey Cas, it’s been a week now. Where are you? Are you in trouble?_

 

Castiel stabbed 435 through the throat, throwing him and watching him slide across the floor and smear blood across the white linoleum.

 

_We’re all getting worried here, Cas. Stuff’s getting pretty bad down here._

Naomi pushed her way into his Grace, poking and changing and destroying pieces of him until he was just a collage of broken parts, disguised as an angel.

 

_Look, we’re in real trouble here. We just met some kid, and he seems to be channelling some heavenly mojo. We need someone who knows what the Hell is going on, Cas. We need you._

Castiel broke 573’s neck, his eyes scanning the warehouse. All across the floor were corpses; Naomi no longer bothered with stacking them up or moving them. When Castiel ran out of space, she just extended the warehouse and spawned a new Dean. There was nothing but the slide of Grace through flesh, and Dean’s prayers. Somehow, he like the first one better.

\-----

_You know I’m not one for praying, because in my book, it’s the same as begging._

 

“Please, Cas, stop,” Dean was screaming, pleading, red dripping down his flesh where Castiel’s blade was making perfect, painful incisions.

 

“Torture,” Naomi had explained. “You make him scream that much, keep him alive long enough, and he’ll be begging you to die instead of you having to force yourself.”

 

Castiel made another cut, watching with detached interest as Dean pulled against his bonds furiously. The pillars in the warehouse were coming in handy, a bright yellow backdrop for Castiel’s training.

 

A few more hours, and Dean looked like how he was when he had been in Hell all those years ago. Bloody, vocal chords so raw that his screams were nothing more than guttural moans, eyes cloudy with pain and half-blind. “Please, Cas,”  Dean begged, slumping down. The bonds around his arms and torso were the only thing keeping him upright, and they were stained with blood. “Pl- Please,” Dean coughed out.

 

Castiel sliced through the ropes, watching Dean fall to the floor blankly. He was trying to crawl, but not away from Castiel. Towards him. Before Dean could get Castiel's shoes or pants dirty with blood, Castiel stabbed him through the back and watched Naomi smile.

 

_Where are you, Cas?_

\-----

The real Dean was so much different than the images that Naomi summoned. Castiel could see his soul, burning brightly and sparking when Castiel was near. The fake Deans all had souls, but they paled in comparison to the real one.

 

“Cas,” Dean said gruffly, his face swollen and bloody. “Cas, I need you.” Even as Castiel raised his blade, Dean just gripped tightly onto the sleeve of Jimmy’s trench coat and closed his eyes, his soul calming and waiting.

 

Castiel dropped his blade, hearing Dean’s prayer.

 

_Cas, I need you._

 

 


End file.
